


Gift for an Old God

by OurOldSun



Category: Lobotomy Corporation (Video Game)
Genre: Just a guy and a tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 18:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30076218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurOldSun/pseuds/OurOldSun
Summary: Memories of a better time brought on by a monster in hell.
Kudos: 4





	Gift for an Old God

Melchior’s young eyes glided across the red and green lights strewn about the small living room. From the rotting walls to the dusty fireplace, barely any surface was spared from the web of bulbs. His gaze met his mother’s, her eyes yellowed from disease. From the look on her face, she seemed to be waiting for some type of confirmation so he smiled as brightly as he could. She quickly mirrored his expression and motioned for him to sit down. He obliged and began his examination of their abode once more, this time paying extra attention to the tree in the corner of the room.

“Mom, this is all so pretty, but… why does the house look this way?” Melchior questioned. He looked around and realized she had left the room while he was absorbed in the decorations. From the kitchen she reappeared, tray of cookies in hand. She set them down on the coffee table in front of him and sat down herself.  
“Well,” she grabbed one of the misshapen cookies and took a bite, “my father told me about this old tradition he and his family had,” she explained through the chunks in her mouth.  
“They would decorate their house with pretty lights like this and leave gifts under the tree for one another. Apparently it all goes way, way back.”  
He nodded his head to her explanation, “But why did they do that? Is today special?” he asked.  
“Apparently it is! It’s-” a particularly loud crunch echoed from her mouth, “something about an old god. I’m sorry, sweety, I don’t know much more than that. I just thought it would be fun for you to see all of this,” she elaborated, spreading her arms and gesturing to the walls.

His eyes fell to the multitude of crumbs now plastered on her maroon shirt. Grabbing a cookie himself, he brought it to his mouth and snapped it in half. As he chewed, he brought his gaze to below the plastic tree, spotting a present wrapped in crimson. Noticing where his attention was, his mother stood up and approached the tree. Her back shook as she bent down and grabbed the gift. Melchior half-sat up, ready to assist before she stood up, set the box on the table and sat down once more. He relaxed once more and gently took the present in his arms. He turned his gaze to his mother and she nodded. He slowly tore into the scarlet wrapping paper to reveal the plain box within. He lifted the lid off and peered inside.

Resting at the bottom of the box laid a small, golden ring bearing no markings. His fingers shook as he pinched the small thing and brought it out of the box. It was simple, but bright, shiny and most definitely new.  
Melchior’s voice quivered, “Mom...” he hesitated, his focus completely on the small loop before him. “How much did this cost?” he whispered.  
“Oh honey, you don’t need to worry about that, I promise!” she cheerfully replied.

Melchior slowly, carefully slipped the ring onto his index finger. It tightly wrapped around the digit, the pressure a welcome feeling. With no warning, he leapt at his mother and hugged her close to him, his head pressed against her chest. She returned the gesture and slowly rocked him, tears flowing from her eyes. He closed his own.  
“I have to get into a wing,” he thought. “I want to give her a good place to live. She deserves that much.”

The usual green of the Safety Department’s main room was muddied by splashes of red. The streaks snaked their way across every surface of the room. On one end stood Melchior, shaking hands grasping at the console behind him, eyes facing straight ahead. In his sight was a tree of red branches and sickly eyes standing completely still. Behind it lay similar trees propping up the bodies of two of Melchior’s coworkers, their flesh completely torn asunder and limbs detached and hung off of the branches. Just a minute before, Melchior had been gazing at the console’s screen when he had heard a gasp followed by a harsh crunch. As he turned his head, another breath and another snap followed.

He had heard about this abnormality from an agent in the Information Department. You had to look at it or else it would kill you instantly. Blinking was fine, but anything longer than that would bring a bloody end. Taking care not to blink more than necessary, Melchior kept his eyes on the beast. His hands shook behind him. The tree’s eyes pierced his own. They wouldn’t stop staring at him, they wouldn’t stop daring him to try something. His gaze slipped to the bodies behind the monster. The two, Balthasar and Gaspar, had been with him since the day he began. Now, their spears, one rotten and one fungal, lay flat against the ground and their heads held up high, supported only by the thin, crimson branches below them. 

Movement. Melchior’s eyes shot back to the Burrowing Heaven. It had spread its branches but had otherwise not come closer. He could not lend his attention to anything else. He could not think about the sickening snaps of his coworkers being ripped apart. He could not think about their eyes looking right at him. He could not think about his mother he had not seen in years. 

His fists clenched. He released his grip on the console and grabbed his gauntlet from his belt. He shoved it onto his right hand and pulled it tight against his arm. Visions of want swam in his head, the signature mark Gold Rush left on your mind. He widened his stance. He lowered himself closer to the ground. He bared his teeth. He breathed heavily.

He leapt.

With no cautiousness, no rationale, Melchior charged straight at the creature. His fist collided with one of its eyes. His free hand wrapped around the stem and squeezed. The tree suffered blow after blow. He kept striking and striking. Blood gushed from the being, wetting him with its ichor. One blow. It loosely wrapped its branches around him. Another. His tears flew freely. More hits. Its yellowed eyes looked at him. The snapping of wood. Its yellowed eyes stared at him. The distant sound of the trumpet. Its yellowed eyes would not stop staring at him. The taste of cookies, the rustling of wrapping paper, the tightness around his finger, the warmth of a hug, the closing of his eyes.

And then nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading through this. Any and all criticism is welcome.


End file.
